Call My Name
by Faikitty
Summary: "You could go all the way yourself," Yuri suggests, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Show me how you get off when I'm not here."


Flynn's clothes are overly complicated.

Yuri knows it, and Flynn _must_ know it too. He normally takes off at least his gauntlets and boots, but he doesn't always remove the rest of his armor, especially if he's had a long day. It's as if he expects Yuri to do it for him, which rarely works because it's _too_ complicated.

Today must have been a long day, Yuri thinks, because Flynn is still covered with armor when he walks through the door. But when the blond joins him on the bed the instant he walks through the door and kisses him, far too deeply to be even remotely chaste, he doesn't mind as much. Still, the outfit _is_ annoying, because when he tries to undress Flynn, he _can't_.

"Your clothes are a pain," Yuri complains, pulling back from the kiss long enough to search for the straps that hold Flynn's armor together. "Next time, leave all of this _outside_ the bedroom."

"All of it?" Flynn muses. Since Yuri is too focused on his task to kiss properly, the blond dips down and follows the opening of Yuri's shirt to his chest. "Your clothes are the opposite. I've never seen anyone but a woman wear such a low cut shirt—anyone but a woman and _you_, that is."

"Is that _really_ complaining I hear? At least I'm not hauling around an extra five hundred pounds of armor all day." Flynn glances up but doesn't respond, verbally at least. Instead, he slips Yuri's shirt past his shoulders and runs a—thankfully ungloved—hand over the newly bared skin and kisses the crook of his neck. Yuri's fingers twitch against Flynn's still-clothed body, and he leans away abruptly. "You do it. I can't figure it out."

"Yuri… It isn't really that hard," Flynn sighs, but he obliges. Yuri _could_ have likely figured out how to get the armor eventually, but Flynn doesn't need to know that. The way his dexterous fingers slide beneath the metal and loosen the fastenings that bind the armor to him is enticing, and his whole body seems to relax as he's freed from their weight. Flynn lifts a brow at Yuri as the last piece of armor slides to the floor. "Think you can manage from here?" he asks wryly.

Yuri leans back a bit farther, twines his fingers together behind his head, and purses his lips in mocking consideration. "Probably," he says slowly, "but I'd rather just keep watching."

"This is not a one man show," Flynn retorts.

"Ah, but it could be."

"_Ah_, but it _won't_ be."

"You could go all the way yourself," Yuri suggests, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Show me how you get off when I'm not here."

It takes a few seconds for his words to hit them both.

Yuri hadn't meant it _seriously_, only as a joke that matched the flow of their banter, but the more he considers it, the better it sounds. It makes him wonder if Flynn dreams about him when he jerks off alone. Besides, Yuri reasons, watching how Flynn gives _himself_ pleasure would surely be informative, to say the least.

Yuri can _see_ his suggestion sink into Flynn. The blond's face goes scarlet and he shakes his head quickly. "I don't—You're here now, so there's no need for that," Flynn protests weakly, but when he tries to lean forward to kiss Yuri again, the dark haired man scoots out of his reach.

"Are you embarrassed? Doesn't it turn you on to think about me watching while you stroke yourself?" Yuri teases. Flynn's blush goes to the tips of his ears at the question. "Watching me watching you, knowing I'm only a few feet away but won't do anything, wishing I would touch you and getting all the harder for it…"

"Stop." Flynn drags his hands over his face as if he's trying to wipe away the red on his cheeks. "Just stop. You're more embarrassing than actually _doing_ it." But he undoes the clasps of his cape and pulls his blue and white surcoat over his head. The aketon beneath follows, and the completely bare skin of his torso would be enough to take in on its own, but he keeps going.

When Flynn tugs his chausses down his legs and all that's left is his underwear, Yuri can hardly hold back his incredulity. "Are you really going to?" he asks, managing to disguise it as excitement—which is also barely contained.

Flynn gives him a blank stare, fingers playing along the elastic band in uncertainty. "You said you wanted me to, so—"

"No. Yeah. Sorry, keep going." Yuri lets out a long breath and lounges back, the picture of relaxation even though every nerve in his body is afire with anticipation. When Flynn sits back by him on the bed, Yuri nearly rises to kiss him, so used to always doing so, but manages to stop himself in time.

Flynn is far from shy, but in a situation like this, Yuri notices that the blond won't meet his eyes once he finally removes his underwear. It's endearing in a way, how Flynn is always so sure of himself on the battlefield but has such an innocent side like this too. His men wouldn't be so keen to follow him if they knew he could be this shy.

Then again, it's not like Yuri is planning on telling anybody.

Flynn keeps his legs folded up to his chest, and Yuri can only tell when he reaches down to palm his cock by the familiar twitch it draws forth. Even when he starts to move his hand, Yuri can't actually _see_ what's happening aside from the steady motion of his arm and the small parting of his lips.

"Come on. Spread your legs. I want to see you," Yuri urges, his forehead creased in annoyance at being denied the show he asked for. "If you're gonna do this, do it right."

So Flynn slowly lowers his legs, lets them fall open so Yuri can see him, even though he turns his head away pointedly. And what a sight it is. Yuri has seen Flynn like this before, but it's never been solo. It's always been _Yuri_ doing it to him, making him moan and writhe beneath him. It's different just _watching_, observing the way his fingers play over his cock in a way that only Flynn knows how to do because it's _him_. Yuri hears the ragged edge of Flynn's breathing as he works himself hard, and for Yuri, it's almost as if _he's_ the one getting off. He feels the heat rise in his blood and settle deep inside, and it's honestly a struggle not to do anything to either of him. His own cock is going hard as he watches Flynn, and he can't keep himself from leaning forward a little in what he pretends is _only_ curiosity.

Shockingly, it's almost more intimate watching Flynn jerk himself off than it is actually having sex with him. Like this, Yuri can see the beads of sweat on his flushed skin and hear the barely audible groans that make their way past his lips. He feels almost like a scientist watching so impassively.

Then Flynn moans his name, and now he just feels like a voyeur.

It's remarkable how quickly his patience wears thin. Yuri knows he isn't the most patient person in the first place, but it isn't long before he can't stand just _watching_, needs to at least be able to touch Flynn, and why oh _why_ did he suggest this in the first place if he was just going to lose control this quickly?

That's the thought that keeps him from acting on his urges. Flynn would never let him live it down if he gave up so quickly into the game. He rocks back, forces himself to stay still, grateful Flynn is too embarrassed still to actually _look_ at him.

When he sees Flynn slide down a bit, back half against the wall and half on the bed, and reach for something on the bedside table with his free hand, Yuri isn't entirely sure what he's doing at first. Then he recognizes the gel as lube, and his breath catches as he watches Flynn push a finger up inside himself. Yuri has never been able to see Flynn's face so clearly while doing something like this to him, and oh, he has missed out. The blond's head turns more toward Yuri, and the little changes in his face are thrown into the light, the slight creasing of his forehead, the fluttering of his lashes, the brighter flush of his cheeks. Flynn's breath goes uneven with pain as he slides in a second finger then almost gasping with pleasure, scissoring himself open with one hand while still rubbing against his cock with the other, his fingers mirroring the unevenness of his breathing for a moment. Yuri couldn't look away even if he wanted to—and he _definitely_ doesn't. It isn't such a struggle to stay still anymore; he seems to have forgotten how to move. Flynn, however, definitely _hasn't_. Yuri sees the familiar shaking in his thighs as he adds another finger, the tightening of the muscles in his abdomen and the abrupt halt of breath as it clearly becomes too much to take—and then the steady exhale and loosening of all his muscles as he manages to relax. Then he starts to move, to thrust in deeper with his fingers, and Yuri remembers he needs to breathe.

It shouldn't be this much of a turn on to watch someone else masturbate, even if that someone _is_ Flynn. Yuri hasn't ever thought of himself as particularly perverted before, but there's no other word to describe how he feels as he watches Flynn. The fact that Flynn won't look at him doesn't help; it only makes him feel as if he's watching this all in secret, like the blond doesn't even know he's there.

A few seconds later, Flynn finally _does_ look at him, and the heat in his half-lidded eyes is goes directly to the other man.

Yuri can't handle it anymore, this self-imposed timeout from sex. He reaches out, grabs Flynn, and pulls him into his lap before the blond can protest. Flynn's back is against his chest as Yuri holds him tightly, so he can't easily see the expression on Yuri's face—which is intentional, because said expression is nothing but regretful and lustful.

"Isn't this kind of—?" Flynn starts, but Yuri cuts him off.

"I'm not _touching_ you. Keep going," he orders, more sharply than he means to, but it's difficult to get the words out without revealing how badly he _wants_ to touch Flynn. His body speaks for him anyway; there's _no_ way Flynn can't feel how hard he is, but the blond thankfully makes no comment, has no reaction at all except a hard swallow and involuntary shiver.

Yuri knows Flynn's body, or at least he thinks he does. But with his arms around Flynn, focusing on _not_ touching him, it's different somehow. Flynn does obey him, keeps pumping steadily at his own cock and slumps against Yuri so he can keep thrusting with his other hand. His movements are slightly altered from before, his body leaning against Yuri's heavily and his head tilting back like he wishes Yuri would kiss him. Yuri _doesn't_ kiss him; that would ruin it for both of him, because he knows that once he lets his lips land on Flynn's, there's no going back from there. He busies himself by playing with Flynn's hair, trying to be careful not to tug too hard or let there be anything too inherently sexual about the action, but his fingers knot through it anyway when he feels Flynn jerk against him.

"God, Flynn." Yuri's voice is thick with wanting even to his own ears. "This isn't fair."

Flynn gives a broken snort of laughter at that. "_You_ wanted this," he reminds Yuri, and he doesn't close his mouth in time to keep the moan from escaping, followed by a soft "_Yuri_."

Something inside of Yuri breaks at that. Even with Flynn so clearly thinking about him, it isn't the same. Yuri can't stand for it to only be the thought of him making Flynn feel like this. He wants it to be his hands and lips instead.

"Wha—? Yuri, what are—?" Flynn stammers as he's knocked onto his back. Yuri kisses him hard enough to bruise, grabs both Flynn's hands to pull them away from his body, and reaches down to stroke Flynn's cock himself. Flynn gives a shudder at the contact, hips bucking up against Yuri's hand without meaning to, and he forces his head away from Yuri's incessant lips to ask, "I thought you wanted me to—?"

"Changed my mind," Yuri mutters against his lips. He doesn't even try to talk after that, just sits up and finds the bottle of lube. He pulls his pants down and slicks it onto his own cock, now painfully hard and entirely untouched, and he doesn't have to waste any time after that. Flynn's legs fall open far more willingly than before, the spread of Yuri's fingers on the blond's inner thighs more for his own benefit than Flynn's. He doesn't _have_ to do anything; Flynn has done it all himself already. So Yuri pushes forward, angles himself to slide into Flynn. There's less friction than he's used to, not as much of a catch, but it's easier that way, less painful for Flynn, so when the blond goes tense around Yuri he knows it's from pleasure. And it's easier for Yuri to move, his pace steady and quick as he thrusts into the other man over and over.

Yuri finds himself still fixated on Flynn, even more than usual, noticing the small details in the reactions he's seen so many times. He runs a thumb over Flynn's throat as it works in an unvoiced moan then drifts down, spreading his fingers over the familiar scars on his abdomen before wrapping them around his cock. He knows his palm is likely more calloused than Flynn's from wielding swords with no gloves, but Flynn doesn't seem bothered by it. If anything, he only enjoys the added friction, his fingers clutching at the sheets by his head.

Neither of them lasts as long as usual, but neither of them cares. Yuri's fingers tighten on Flynn's hips, and distantly he thinks they'll leave bruises, but he can't find it in him to loosen his grip, using the leverage to increase the friction he so desperately needs after watching Flynn for so long. Besides, Flynn can cover any bruises with the clothes that started this whole thing. With that as his reasoning he doesn't slow down, because he knows Flynn needs it too, and he might be going too hard but he doesn't care, doesn't expect Flynn really does either. The blond is breathing in short gasps as if he can't get enough air, each released as a moan or a whimper or something in between, and for a few moments all Yuri can focus on is Flynn's groans as he arches beneath him. There's something different in its timbre from before, a lower and more desperate whine. Yuri can't keep a quiet moan of his own in, and he's not sure what's hotter, watching Flynn get off to the thought of him or drawing out these reactions with his own hands.

Yuri sees the shadow of orgasm on Flynn's face before it happens, and he quickens his pace for it, tightening his fingers to mimic the motions of Flynn's not long before. "Yuri," Flynn manages on a choked exhale, and he gets nothing but the name out—or, perhaps that's all he wanted to say—before he comes with a groan, head tipping back against the pillow. Yuri doesn't let go, presses down on top of him with his whole body as he too goes to the brink and then over it from Flynn pulsing around him. His vision bursts into white, all but the blue of Flynn's eyes, standing out bright like starlight.

Then the world floods back in, and Yuri's head veers off to the side, away from Flynn's eyes, to press against his shoulder. After a moment, he leans back, lets Flynn scoot out from under him. He rests on his side, eyes closed as Flynn disappears. He isn't embarrassed for what happened, not in the least, but he doesn't think he'll ask for that again. He simply can't handle not being able to touch Flynn when the blond looks like that.

A wet towel smacks him in the face a few seconds after his thoughts shut off, and he sits up with a surprised frown. He sees Flynn standing a few feet away with a damp rag, wiping off his face as if he didn't just throw a towel at the other man. Yuri does the same, and then tosses it back, pretending he didn't _mean_ to hit Flynn in the face with it too. The blond gives him a half-hearted glare as Yuri smiles innocently and sprawls out on the bed to wait for Flynn to join him.

Flynn turns out the light after a minute or so, and Yuri feels him crawl into bed and lie down next to him. But he doesn't curl up in Yuri's arms, resting a bit away instead. Honestly, Yuri guesses it _is_ a bit too warm for post-sex cuddling, and they aren't always the most affectionate pair anyway.

"Was it everything you were expecting?" Flynn asks, sarcasm clear in his tired voice but with an underlying layer of sincerity.

"That and more," Yuri admits. "I'd rather not do it again though."

He has the sudden urge to punch Flynn when the blond grins at him (true, he can't _see_ the grin, but he _knows_ that's what he's doing). "You don't have much self-control, do you?"

"Like you'd do any better," Yuri shoots back, despite the fact that Flynn probably _would_—until near the end, at least, when, knowing Flynn, he would give in with more fervor than Yuri ever displayed. "Go to sleep already."

Yuri feels Flynn laugh, and then he inches forward to fit his head under the other man's chin, an arm resting languidly over his waist. Yuri wraps his arms around Flynn in return to draw him closer despite the sweat that still sticks to his skin. Yuri far prefers his presence to comfort.

He never sleeps as well as he does when Flynn is with him.


End file.
